


Last Christmas

by isleofdreams



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Car Accidents, Character Death, Christmas, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Coffee Shops, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, First Christmas, Fluff, Friendship/Love, I'm Sorry, Ice Skating, M/M, Mistletoe, No beta we die like dream, Sad Ending, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:33:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isleofdreams/pseuds/isleofdreams
Summary: George is his god, and Dream his devout worshipper. He would do anything for George. He’d scale the mountains to reach for the sun even if it burnt him alive, reach to pluck stars from the night sky even if it meant he could fall to his death. He’d hold up the universe, if it meant that he’d make George happy.He wants to make George happy.(Five times Dream spends Christmas with George, and the one time he doesn't)
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 114
Kudos: 331





	Last Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aureahlin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aureahlin/gifts).



> mandatory: these are merely their personas. this does not represent them in real life, in any way whatsoever. yes, some of the stuff they shared might be used here, but please remember that this fic is purely fictional. do not shove this into their faces. if one of them expresses discomfort with such content, it will be taken down immediately. please respect them
> 
> oh boy. hi, this is a (late) secret santa fic.
> 
> potential trigger warnings: car accidents
> 
> please read the tags. its very important
> 
> anyways, ily <3
> 
> mandatory shoutout to VE, especially ness qekyo and vrea vreaa bc those bitches yelled at me when i asked them to read snippets lmfao

**_20 December, 2013_ **

**_First Christmas_ **

George is already at the restaurant when Dream barges in, three minutes late and out of breath.

“Shit-” Dream gasps, collapsing into the booth opposite of George. “I’m sorry, I got held back and the traffic is fucking _horrendous_ and-”

“It’s alright,” George shushes, placing his hand above Dream’s. “London’s traffic is shit, and- wait, did you text and drive?”

“No, I didn’t,” Dream denies, though there’s something swimming in his eyes, something that’s almost similar to a twinkle of mischief. “I text and wait at the red lights.”

“Don’t do that!”

“It’s alright! See, I’m fine!” Dream stretches his arms out, as if he’s trying to accept a hug from George. 

George only huffs. No matter how much he loves his boyfriend, Dream’s stubbornness drives him insane at times. It’s a wonder how the both of them put up with each other. Sighing, he pushes the menu closer to Dream. “C’mon, pick something. It’s our Christmas dinner.”

Dream hums as he flips the leather cover open, eyes flicking front and back along the page. He freezes slightly when he checks the price. “George, I- this- it’s so fucking expensive! Are you sure we-”

“It’s fine,” George waves it off, as if the steak that they are going to have isn’t overpriced and can potentially drain his wallet. “It’s Christmas dinner. I’m paying for it.”

“You don’t have to-”

“But I wanna,” George insists, and after a few stern looks, Dream caves in and slumps in his seat. “Don’t worry. I have enough cash. I swear.”

“ _Sure_.”

George rolls his eyes and flips through the menu, eyes fleeting over various dishes with names he can barely pronounce. Squinting his eyes, he tries to locate something that looks familiar.

“Do you even know half of these dishes?”

George looks back up at Dream once again. “...no.”

“You are so fucking adorable,” Dream chuckles, and it takes everything in George not to whack the smirk off his face right now. “Do you want to go somewhere else?”

“What?”

“I mean,” Dream gestures to the fancy dining hall, where ladies are dressed up in ankle-length dresses and men are in suits. Hell, when George first stepped into the restaurant in jeans and a button up, he felt _underdressed_ , as if he doesn’t belong there, “do you really want to be here?”

“Uhh…” 

Dream understands right away. 

Silently, the both of them stand up, shuffling awkwardly across red carpets that look as if they were just bought from the store, and past busy waiters and waitresses serving high-class wine and sirloin steak. Dream gives an apologetic smile to the receptionist as they both step out into the chilly air, and even though he has done nothing wrong, George still feels a pang of guilt looming over him.

“I’m sorry we didn’t… y’know.” He gestures back to the restaurant, standing tall and proud in its glory. “I don’t know, I feel bad.”

“Don’t.” Dream leans down and holds George’s hand, placing a small kiss on the back as he leads George to their car. “Seriously. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable in there too. Plus, I suggested we leave, didn’t I?”

“Well, you have a point.”

Because it’s true. Despite them trying as best as they can, they just aren’t suited for living in the high ends. Sure, they can try wearing the most expensive pairs of shoes and own the most expensive of mansions, but they will never be able to replicate the gracious movements of the wealthy, as well as sit around and let others serve them on a golden platter.

George supposes it’s for the better that they don’t, because he doubts that he’ll ever get used to speaking poshly, or whispering gently in ballrooms as he watches men and women sway around on the dancefloor. He’d rather spend his time in fast food restaurants licking salt off his finger while Dream laughs carelessly opposite him. He’d rather spend his time screaming profanities at Dream while the latter runs around the house, hand holding either George’s favourite mug or his cat. He’d rather spend time munching on cereal at 3am in the morning.

He’d rather spend time on all the useless little moments than lavish ballrooms and freshly pressed suits.

“Where do you wanna go, then?” George asks, hands in his pocket. Strangely, it hasn’t started snowing. 

Dream considers for a moment, gravel crunching beneath his boots. “Hmm… Bad’s coffee shop?”

It’s a good choice, one that won’t make them feel uncomfortable and out of their skins. Plus, their best friends are there. “Sure.”

The journey is quick: it takes about thirteen minutes for the coffee shop to come into view, and two more minutes of George screaming at Dream for almost rear-ending the other car while parking. Nonetheless, they make it there safely.

George alights the car and looks at the cosy little store, ‘Bad’s Cafe’ spelt out wonkily above the entrance. Potted plants line up beside the glass doors, and soon the bell announces their arrival with a little chime.

“Hi, welcome to-” Upon seeing familiar faces, Bad, the owner, rushes to greet them with a hug. “Dream! George!”

“Hey, Bad.” George mumbles, heart warm and happiness bubbling at the bottom of his stomach as he waves at Skeppy, who’s manning the coffee machine today. “It’s great to see you.”

“You say that as if you don’t meet me like, every day.” Bad’s smile is bright enough to light up the entire world as he leads them to one of the more private booths, serving them both iced water. “So, why are you guys here? Did you miss me too much?”

“Bad, they miss me, alright!” Skeppy yells, earning a few glances from customers who are there. 

Rolling his eyes, Bad turns back to the couple, eyeing them suspiciously. “Let me guess. You guys didn’t like the restaurant, and left.”

The silence from George and a sheepish grin from Dream confirms Bad’s guess. 

“Well, I know your orders, so. It’ll be here soon.” 

As soon as Bad leaves, George lets out a relaxed sigh, eyes glancing around the coffee shop as he takes off his gloves. An old jukebox sits at the side (something that, presumably, Skeppy has found while rummaging through his storage room one day), a small potted Chinese Evergreen on top of it for decoration purposes. There are little trinkets of decoration here and there: a rope of handmade elephant dolls woven together hangs at the counter near the coffee shop, the wind chime that Dream and George bought as a gift hanging near the window. The smell of coffee and Skeppy’s occasional yelling fills the air.

It’s peculiar, as if these things shouldn’t be placed in one room, shouldn’t be together. Some may find it odd that you’d be able to find Samurai swords (also courtesy of Dream and George) and a jukebox in the same room, while others may find it weird that you’d be able to find handmade plushies and a dart-throwing lane in the same restaurant.

Either way, George finds that all these little, quaint things are what make the coffee shop somewhat of a home to him.

He turns to Dream, who’s obviously engrossed in the soft music that’s playing in the background, eyes glazed over as he daydreams. Amidst the hums of the coffee maker and the murmurs of customers, George makes out the song that’s playing.

“I love this song.”

Dream’s eyes snap to him, though his attention is still divided as he raises an eyebrow. “Huh?”

“This song. The one that’s playing right now.”

Leaning his head on his hands, he props himself up with his elbows on the table, as if that helps with his listening abilities while he tilts his head. Some of his hair falls in front of his eyes, so George leans forwards and brushes them aside. “Oh, you mean _Last Christmas_?”

“Yeah,” George breathes out. “It’s a good song.”

“Why is that so?”

George shrugs, eyes averted to avoid Dream’s gaze. “I dunno. It’s just… it’s just nice, I guess.”

Dream doesn’t say anything, so to fill in the silence, George starts to ramble. “Like, it’s about heartbreak, in a way? But the thing is, he’d still fall for them, y’know? Like, he’d still be there for them and he’d still fall over and over and I think that’s pretty stupid.”

“Why is that so?”

Dream’s question burns a hole in his heart, though he brushes it away, choosing to focus on the condensation that’s flowing down his glass of water. “Like, it’s- you don’t wait for someone? I don’t know, like, you shouldn’t fall for them over and over again because you know they’re going to break your heart again. I dunno, I just- it’s stupid forget it-”

“I wanna hear more.” And Dream is stretching, like a cat in lazy afternoons. “I wanna hear your thoughts.”

George’s throat dries. “Doesn’t it fucking hurt to know that they won’t like you back? It’s painful, but he still does it over and over. Like, he falls for the wrong people.”

“But what if it’s someone who likes them back?”

“That won’t be an issue, would it?”

“Huh,” Dream looks around, and Skeppy’s in the background, yelling at Bad about something only Skeppy and Bad knows, “if it’s not an issue, then why do I keep falling for you over and over again?”

George almost chokes on his water. “ _What_?”

“You heard me,” Dream continues, as if his words aren’t going to be imprinted at the back of George’s mind, replaying over and over again like a broken record late at night. “You make me feel things, George. You make me feel… alive. You make me feel like I’m someone important. You just- everytime you’re here, I love you more and more somehow.”

“Oh.”

“And like-” Dream’s eyes are on everywhere except for George, his confidence now dwindling a little. “Like, I know you love me, but sometimes I’m just scared that- that you don't love me one day anymore, and that’s scary to think about. I don’t want the day to come, y’know? I don’t want that one day to arrive, because I don’t know if I’d be able to live without you.”

“Oh.” And George is beating himself up, yelling at himself because _what the fuck kind of reaction is ‘oh’? Who the fuck responds with an ‘oh’ when someone literally recites an entire paragraph and pour their heart out to you?_ “Oh.” His tongue is numb, his head muddled from all of Dream’s words and full of _I don’t know if I’d be able to live without you_ and _you make me feel things, George_.

“Yeah.” Dream scratches the back of his head awkwardly, fingers tracing the droplets that are running down his glass. “Uh… yeah. Heh.”

If it was possible, George would rearrange the stars, wrestle with constellations and break them apart to spell out his confessions for Dream, to write it out in the night skies while the Moon watches. Hell, he’d steal the flames from the Sun and paint them in beautiful strokes of flames and ‘I love you’s so that the entire world can point at it, because he _wants_ the entire world to see how much he loves Dream.

But just like a fish out of water, all he does is gape and stare at Dream, and like a basic bitch, repeats the word. “Oh.”

The atmosphere is awkward, but thankfully, Bad barges in with a loud guffaw and cakes and croissants. “Hey guys! Here’s your food.”

“Thanks, Bad,” Dream smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes as Bad nods back enthusiastically. “Seriously, I love your cakes.”

“Oh, you always say that.” There’s a prideful grin on Bad’s face. “But thank you. I appreciate it. I will… leave you two alone now.”

George waves at him, and it hurts him how mechanical he feels when he turns back to the croissant in front of him, fresh and crisp. Avoiding Dream’s eye contact altogether, he starts stuffing the pastry into his mouth. 

The silence is crushing George’s lungs, preventing oxygen from getting into his body. He hates how _Last Christmas_ is still playing in the background while his mind screams at him to do _something_ , so he takes in a deep breath and mumbles “Sorry for making it awkward.”

“It’s fine!” Dream waves it away, a small blush still on his cheeks. “Seriously, it’s alright.”

“I just…” The pit in his stomach grows bigger, and the words lodge in his throat, but he rushes it out with a slight stutter as he stares at his half-eaten croissant. “I love you, okay? And uh… I just- I’m not good with words sometimes so I just wanna say that I’m happy you’re here and I love you and I don’t think I’d be able to stop loving you and-”

“Whoa!” Dream wheezes, and air seems to be coming back once again, filling George’s lungs as he watches the man across him smile brighter than the sun. “George, I- I love you. I love you a lot.”

Something cliche clogs the back of George's mind, so he spits it out before he can regret it. “I don’t know if I can live without you, too.”

The tip of Dream’s ears are bright red as he buries his head in his hands, letting out some sort of a muffled screech. “George-”

“I mean it.”

Dream looks up. “I- I know, and- oh my god, how am I so lucky to have you?”

George reaches over, and with shaky fingers, holds Dream’s hand. “I dunno. I guess we’re just lucky enough to find each other.”

As he looks into viridian eyes that sparkles with gold, George realises that maybe, _maybe_ , falling for someone over and over again might be worth it. 

* * *

**_23 June, 2013_ **

**_2:34pm_ **

_George: dream_

_Dream: yes?_

_George: oh god this is embarrassing_

_George: can you uh_

_George: can you help me get uh_

_George: cheese?_

_Dream: why_

_Dream: are you trying to make grilled cheese again?_

_George: yes_

_George: i crave it_

_George: so what_

_Dream: you’re so fucking cute_

_Dream: fine_

_George: yay!_

_Dream: i’ll get oyu cheese_

_Dream: but you owe me a kiss_

_George: dont i always_

_George: arent you driving rn_

_Dream: its the red lights_

_Dream: i’ll be fine_

_George: okay i’ll stop texting you now_

_George: focus!_

_Dream: fine_

_George: >:( _

_George: bye_

_Dream: bye_

_Dream: ily_

_George: :]_

* * *

**_24 December, 2014_ **

**_Second Christmas_ **

**_Christmas Eve_ **

When Dream comes home about an hour late, he spots George pace around the living room with a worried look in his eyes.

“Where have you been!” George grabs Dream’s wrist, chestnut-coloured eyes fleeting here and there as he examines Dream’s features. “Why are you home late?”

Guiltily, Dream holds up the plastic bag in his hand, boxes of various sizes wrapped up in green and red wrapping paper sitting innocently. “Sorry, I had to get some last minute Christmas presents.”

“But you could’ve told me!” Frustration turns into tears as George growls out his words. “Literally, you could’ve texted me or- or something! I was worried sick! I- I thought you got into an accident or something I-”

“Shh, Georgie.” Upon seeing how anxious and scared his boyfriend is, Dream proceeds to place his belongings on the floor and hugs George. The other man melts into his touch completely. “I’m sorry, I just- I forgot and I got too excited over these gifts so it just completely slipped my mind.”

“It’s okay.” George’s words are muffled against Dream’s shirt.

“I’m sorry. I’ll cuddle with you later, okay?” Dream pulls away, tilting George’s chin up a little so that he can plant a kiss on his nose. “I have to change out, make myself comfortable.”

“Could you… uh…” George rubs his cheeks, averting his gaze as he rushes out his sentence. “Could you get me your hoodie? I wanna wear it.”

Dream’s eyes widen. “Oh. Oh, sure. Just- just wait for me here, alright?” 

George nods, moving towards the couch as Dream walks to their room, the gifts still by the doorstep. Frowning, he proceeds to shift them so that it’s not blocking the path before sinking into the cushions. The distant twinkle of fairy lights on the Christmas tree keeps him company.

“Babe, I’m back.” Dream tosses George a hoodie: the lime green one that he always adored, before collapsing onto the couch himself and wrapping his arms around George’s waist, nuzzling into his neck. “I’m sorry for making you worried.”

“It’s alright, Dream.” George shifts so that he’s in a more comfortable position so that he’s able to hug Dream. “I just- listening to the automated voicemail annoys me.”

Dream sighs contentedly, feeling George’s fingers run up and down his back smoothly. “Would it be better if I recorded my own voicemail?”

“Hmm… maybe?”

Dream’s hands are on the coffee table, searching aimlessly for his phone before he reaches out and grabs at the metallic, smooth surface. Turning his head so that it’s still near George’s neck, he can feel the latter’s breath hitch and his heartbeat quickens. Dream decides to plant a small kiss near his jawline. “So… how do I do this.”

“Who usually calls you?”

“You, Sapnap, Karl, Bad,” Dream lists down the names, searching in his mind to grab at his most recents. “Skeppy, I dunno. Our friends, mostly.”

There’s the slight hum of their radio as _Silent Night_ plays quietly in the distance, the crackle of the fireplace filling the air. It’s calm, just like how George likes to spend festivities. He finds that although he used to be a party animal, he’d rather much prefer spending alone time with his loved ones instead of screaming his head out in a bar, because all he wants is to feel at home.

Dream’s weight reminds him that he’s _home_.

“How do I do this-” Dream fumbles with his phone, playing with a few buttons until he figures out how to set up his own voicemail (George tells him to Google, but stubbornly, Dream refuses). “Uh… George?”

“Hm?”

“What do I say?”

“What do people usually call you for?” Dream’s hair is tickling his cheek, so he opts to rest his chin on his head. 

“Stuff. I dunno,” Dream mumbles, thumb still hovering over the record button. “Drista usually calls because of mum. Sapnap because he doesn’t know how to do shit, and uh-”

“So just tell them what they want to hear?” George suggests, fingers lazily tracing circles on Dream’s forearm, watching the bright star on the Christmas tree blink. 

Dream stays silent for a moment, as if contemplating George’s words. With a low whine, he separates himself from George, and the other almost pulls Dream back, almost tells him _no, please, come back to me and stay in my arms, forever_ but he knows that if he does so, Dream will never record the voicemail.

So he resists the urges and watches as Dream sits up straight, lips pressed together in a thin line. George can almost hear Dream’s thoughts, can hear the cogs whirring in his brain as he formulates a script. 

He perks up, and with a shy smile, presses the record button. “Hi, it’s Dream.”

And George listens. He listens to how Dream’s voice always dips at the end of each sentence as he teases Sapnap and Karl about destroying things. He listens to how Dream always curls his ‘r’s and how there always seems to be a light chuckle in between his words. He listens to what crunchy maple leaves and honey on pancakes sounds like, listens to the small groans as Dream restarts his voicemail when he doesn’t get something right.

He lets his head lean on Dream’s shoulder when the latter talks to Drista and his mum, tone more soft and gentle than teasing now, a contrast to when he talks to his friends. Fingers that are running along forearms causes eyes to meet, and George gives him a warm smile, heart bubbling with love and fondness overflowing until it reaches the back of his throat, but all he can do is squeeze their intertwined hands and hope- no, _pray_ \- that Dream knows just how much George loves him.

There are fingers in his hair now, massaging his scalp and George leans into them, leans into soft yet firm touches and calloused hands. Dream is still talking, now to Skeppy and Bad, and George can almost see the both of them bickering with each other right in front of him, in front of the blank television screen that’s staring back at them. 

_“If this is George,”_ And there’s that soft tone again, the one that Dream only uses when he’s around him, when he’s talking or mentioning him. His words become gentler, lighter, as a blush spreads across his cheeks. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, emerald green glimmering in the dark, and George finds that even the stars are incomparable when there’s Dream.

_“Hi. I love you. I’ll be home soon.”_

* * *

**_10 May, 2015_ **

**_2:40pm_ **

_George: dream_

_George: i want like_

_George: apple juice_

_Dream: did you forget to get them again_

_George: uh_

_George: maybe?_

_Dream: …_

_Dream: i despise you so much_

_Dream: why must you always make me suffer_

_George: it’s just apple juice!_

_George: it’s not even like… orange juice or something_

_Dream: but i need to go to the store_

_Dream: and i dont wanna_

_George: please?_

_George: something for me?_

_George: pretty please?_

_Dream: no_

_George: i’ll do whatever you want me to later_

_Dream: does this involve you making me dinner_

_George: i already do that?_

_Dream: take outs dont count_

_George: you really want ot eat my shitty cooking?_

_Dream: theyre good!_

_George: whatever_

_George: fine_

_George: just get me the damn apple juice_

_George: you know which one right_

_Dream: sure_

_Dream: ily_

_George: i hate you_

_George: <3 _

* * *

**_21 December, 2015_ **

**_Third Christmas_ **

“Oh, look.” Dream turns to look outside the window, a small smile on his face as George cuddles closer to him. “It’s snowing.”

“We’re in London, you dummy. Of course it’s snowing.”

“Yeah, I know.” And even if Dream tries to hide his excitement, George can still see the way his eyes light up as his index finger taps to an unknown rhythm, and he loves how Dream just gets excited over the little things in life. “I just… there’s _snow_ , George!”

“I can see that.” Dream’s happiness is so infectious that George can’t help but let a grin crawl up his face, something soft wrapping around his heart like a warm blanket. When Dream turns to him, smiles so wide that hurts his cheeks and viridian eyes lit up, George places a kiss on his nose.

“I wanna go out!” 

George groans. “We are _not_ going out, Dream.”

This earns a whine from Dream. “Why? I wanna play in the snow!”

“It’s so-” And George can ramble on and on about how much he hates snow, how he hates the way they almost melt immediately in his touch and creates puddles of water that he has to clean up. He can ramble on and on about how much he hates the way they somehow find their way into his boots, leaving his socks drenched and the thing he hates the most is wet _socks_ . He can ramble on and on about how it’s a pain in the ass to wear his winter jacket and gloves and boots and that he’d rather stay in with a plain hoodie and a cup of hot chocolate, _thank you very much_.

He can ramble on and on about it, but when Dream gives him a pout and puppy eyes that causes his heart to pound faster, the words seem to die on his tongue as he lets out a sigh. “Fine. We’ll go.”

“Yay!”

George shakes his head at how childish Dream is as he drags himself out of bed, out of comfortable blankets and the stack of pillows that he has and follows Dream to their shared closet. Picking out their outfits, they’re soon by the front door, Dream fidgeting so much that he’s almost vibrating in excitement.

When the cool, winter air hits them in the face, Dream is already out of the door, leaving George behind. The latter shakes his head, though a smile is on his face as he watches his boyfriend admire the fluffy crystals, a hand outstretched to catch snowflakes.

“Look! It’s snowing!” Dream giggles, and George’s heart flutters, butterflies trapped by his ribcage because Dream only giggles when he’s truly _happy_ and _content_ and who the fuck knew his boyfriend would giggle at _snow_ , out of everything?

He supposes he can’t blame Dream. After spending so much time in a snow-less country, he’s bound to find snow interesting.

“Can we build a snowman? Please? George do you know how to?” Dream runs back to him, dirty brown hair tousled as his fringe peeks out of his woolly hat. “I wanna build a snowman!”

“...I don’t know how to.”

“ _What?”_

George scrambles to defend himself, flailing his arms in front of him hopelessly as Dream gapes at him. “Look, okay. I- It’s usually my friends who build the snowman and I never got the hang of it okay?”

“I can’t believe it,” Dream gasps dramatically, and George rolls his eyes at his boyfriend’s antics. “You’ve lived here for, what, your entire life? Twenty four years of living here, and you have never, ever mastered snowman building? I can’t believe it! My own boyfriend, a British, who lived in London his entire life, does not _know_ -”

Dream’s words are cut short by George’s lips pressing against his.

There’s always something about kissing Dream that makes George’s head spin in a good way, that makes George feel like he can never get enough of it. Maybe it’s the way that Dream will always tilt his head to the side a little, deeping their kiss further, or it’s the way his fingers will ghost the surface of George’s cheek before resting in his hair, tugging them closer. Maybe it’s the way that it always leaves a fire at the bottom of George’s stomach, a flame that will never go away no matter how many times they’ve done this.

Maybe George doesn’t want it to go away after all. Maybe he wants the flame to turn into something bigger, snowball into something almost as big as a forest fire and swallow him whole, singe his skin and melt his heart and he’d accept it. Maybe he wants soot and ashes to clog his lungs when he kisses Dream, wants sparks to linger on his forearm with every touch Dream leaves behind.

Maybe George wants it to burn until all that’s left of him is nothing. Destructive, but in a good way.

When they break apart, they’re breathless: flames consuming oxygen and leaving them nothing but the ghost of each other’s lips.

Dream’s breath forms in front of George. “Wow.”

“Wow.” 

“So…” Dream clears his throat, pink lightly dusted across his cheeks. “Are we still building the snowman?”

“Sure.” George looks away, and it’s almost funny how they’re still shy despite being together for about three years. “Let’s go, but it might turn out ugly.”

And he’s right. After almost two hours of hauling snowballs of various sizes, it looks fucking horrendous. 

Dream glances at George, who’s placing the final piece onto their masterpiece. “The eyes look a little lopsided.”

“Everything looks lopsided,” George mumbles as he moves to stand beside Dream, wincing at their futile attempts. “It looks fucking ugly.”

“Just like you.”

“Hey!”

Dream’s wheezes fill in the silence while George punches his shoulder playfully. “Okay, okay, fine. Jeez, George.”

“I hate you so much.” The smile betrays his words. 

Dream closes his eyes and leans in to place a kiss on George’s nose, but he’s interrupted by an icy sensation on his face. Gasping, he opens “George! What the fuck-”

George is giggling as another snowball launches at Dream, though this time the latter barely dodges it, his instincts kicking in. “Aw, does it hurt? Does Dream get hurt by a wittle snowball?”

“Oh, you’re gonna get it.”

And George almost regrets it when Dream has that competitive glint in his eyes, his hands reaching down to scoop up some snow. His legs are carrying him across the park, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he feels the wind flow past him. 

“Oh George~!”

It’s almost strangely addicting, how his name lingers on Dream’s tongue, the teasing undertones causing him to shiver. His knees almost buckle, but he keeps pushing, keeps letting the wind take him wherever, away from Dream as he lets out a laugh.

(Though all he wants is to be as close to him as possible, the distance between them nonexistent)

Suddenly, George feels someone tackling him from behind, causing him to stumble and let out a yelp as the both of them fall. Squirming, he tries to escape Dream’s grip, but Dream has him pinned down, a cocky grin on his face as one of his hands holds a snowball, the other holding down George’s wrist.

“Don’t do this,” George chuckles nervously, eyeing the snowball. “Dream, I love you, don’t-”

Dream smacks the snowball dead on George’s face.

“Dream!” The icy sensation causes him to shiver, shaking his head furiously to get rid of the snow. “Why did you do that!”

“Revenge,” Dream smirks, leaning down so that his nose almost touches George’s, and the latter can see the golden sparks in between green, splatters of gold against viridian. His woolly hat is gone now, snowflakes dotting dirty blonde hair and George blames his pounding heart on the exercise that he has just done. “Say sorry to me now.”

“No.” 

“George.” Dream’s voice is lower than usual, his breath tickling George’s cheeks.

“Why should I?”

“You hurt me.” And George’s head is spinning again, and the only thing that’s grounding him is Dream’s weight on him. “You hurt me, so you have to say sorry.”

“And if I don’t?”

Dream leans in to press a kiss on George’s forehead. “Then you don’t get your gift.”

George’s eyes widen. “Gift?”

“Well, yeah,” Dream chuckles, his grip on George’s wrists still firm. “It’s Christmas, dumbass.”

“What did you get me?”

“Nothing.”

George groans. “Shut the fuck up. I’m not apologising then.”

Dream shrugs, releasing George as he stands up, dusting snow off of him. “Well, alright then. I guess I’ll just fly back to Florida and spend Christmas with my family instea-”

“Wait!” George quickly rushes to Dream’s side, and with a shy smile laces their fingers together as best as he can through thick gloves. “I’m sorry. Spend Christmas with me?”

Dream pulls George in for a kiss. “Of course, darling. Forever.”

“And if you don’t?”

“Well.” Dream pulls George in, bodies pressed against each other, “that means that I’m dead.”

“Dream!”

“What?”

George goes silent, and the butterflies are back again in his stomach. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

* * *

**_11 September, 2016_ **

**_3:39pm_ **

_George: dreammmmmm_

_George: can you get me ice cream_

_Dream: why_

_Dream: the hell are you doing this to me_

_George: im sorry i forgot :(_

_George: i just want ice cream please_

_Dream: no_

_Dream: go out and get it yourself_

_George: :(_

_George: you dont love me :(_

_Dream: i love you_

_Dream: but i wont get ice cream for you_

_Dream: unless i choose the flavours_

_George: you always get vanilla_

_George: you’re so fucking boring_

_Dream: okay so no ice cream then_

_Dream: im coming back_

_George: i hate you so much_

_George: fine. get vanilla like the basic bitch you are_

_Dream: ;)_

_Dream: i love you_

_George: i fucking hate you_

_George: <3 _

* * *

**_24 December, 2016_ **

**_Fourth Christmas_ **

**_Christmas Eve_ **

“So… how do we do this?” Dream glances up, an eyebrow raised as he watches George tie his shoelaces. The black skates are heavy in his hand, blades shining under the bright lights as he places them down awkwardly. “Do I like… just wear them?”

“Yeah?” George throws him a concerned look. “What else are you gonna do with them?”

Dream turns back to the skates as he slips out of his sneakers, struggling a little to force his feet down. When George had passed him this pair with an apologetic smile, telling him that it’s the biggest pair he owns, Dream dismissed it carelessly. Although it still fits him, his toes barely able to wriggle, he still frowns at them.

“Is it alright?” George asks while Dream laces them up. “Sorry. They might be a little too tight, but I hope you can still skate in them. We can get you another pair if you want.”

“I think it’s good.”

George shrugs, turning to Dream with a smile as he stands effortlessly, chucking his bag to the bench near the rink. “Do you need help to stand?”

“No, I’m fine-” Before the sentence even leaves his mouth completely, Dream is stumbling, arms flailing as he falls back down onto the bench again, eyes wide. “What the fuck-”

George is laughing, arms wrapped around his torso as he curls up on himself. Dream glares, though he feels a twisted sense of happiness as George stumbles himself due to laughter. Letting out a small chuckle, he reaches out to grab at George, a pout on his lips. “Georgie, help me?”

The other boy gathers himself as he walks over to Dream, and Dream admires how easy it is for George. However, instead of giving Dream a helping hand, George only crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I’m sure you can stand up yourself. It’s not even that hard.”

“But-”

“C’mon.” George rolls his eyes, and when Dream reaches out to grab his wrist, he moves away smoothly. “Give it a try.”

Dream groans, a little over-exaggerated. George watches as his boyfriend struggles slightly, hands steadying himself on the bench before pushing himself cautiously back up. Though he’s wobbling, still unsure, Dream gives George a confident smirk anyway.

“I told you you could do it.” George smiles, fingers soon finding Dream’s as he laces them together. “You were just an idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.” The words slip out of Dream’s mouth easily, and George almost smacks Dream.

“Say that again and I’m not gonna help you get up when you fall on your ass.”

Dream wheezes, eyes bright with happiness as he looks at the other boy and places a kiss at the back of his hand. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall.”

George only rolls his eyes as he steps onto the ice, letting go of Dream’s hand as he finds balance on the slippery surface, before beckoning Dream to join him. 

As soon as Dream sets foot on the ice, he slips and falls. 

George’s loud guffaws are heard, echoing in Dream’s ear as George blushes in embarrassment at his failure. It’d be melodic, if it did not come from the fact that he just made a fool out of himself. Still, a small smile presents itself on his face as he lets George help him up.

“Have you skated before?” Their breaths are mingling with each other, forming in between the both of them before disappearing into thin air. From where he is, Dream can see the red in George’s cheeks rising due to the cold, brown hair carelessly combed and fluffed up. 

Under the lights, George almost looks ethereal. An angel that has graced his presence on Earth, Dream wonders how he has gotten so lucky to have met him, to have him as his _boyfriend_. To have him in his arms and hold him tightly, to kiss him under the night skies.

“Yeah,” Dream mumbles, eyes still lingering on the other boy, trying to snap away from his daydream. “Yeah, I’ve skated once.”

“And when was that?” George raises his eyebrow, and it takes Dream about three seconds to even comprehend the question.

“Uhh… a few years ago.”

“Shame.” And George is skating, moving away from him as he glides gracefully across the empty rink, clothes fluttering in the slight breeze. “Can’t believe you're missing out.”

“Look, okay.” Dream jumps to defend himself as he tries to balance, knees almost locking from how nervous he is. “We don’t have snow or ice puddles - whatever you call them - in Florida.”

George turns around, hands behind his back as he watches Dream struggle to even move his feet, biting on his lip to prevent a cheeky grin from surfacing. He’s skating _backwards, what the fuck_. “Well, you do realise there’s this thing called an ice skating rink, right? Y’know, like the place we’re in right now?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Dream groans, but there’s a small, fond smile on his face. “I don’t go out. You know me.”

_“Sure”_

“Teach me how to skate?” Dream is hopelessly clinging onto the side of the rink, knuckles almost the colour of alabaster as he pouts at George again. “Pretty pretty please?”

George huffs, running his hand through his fringe before skating towards Dream, icy cold fingers wrapping around the latter’s wrist as he pulls Dream away from the side. Whining, Dream reluctantly lets go as he lets George lead him further and further away from safety. 

“So, you gotta put your feet like this.” George shows Dream, positioning his feet so that it’s in some sort of a ‘V’ shape. “Then, you just push yourself forward gently.”

“Uhh…”

“Here,” George offers his hand, and Dream accepts it gratefully, trying his best not to fall due to the distraction that is George’s fingers. “I’ll hold you. Just trust me, alright?”

And George is skating once again, leading Dream around slowly and carefully as Dream’s eyes lock onto both of his skates, focusing on his movements. Lifting his foot up, he slowly glides forward, and a small but prideful smile appears on his face.

“George!” Exclaiming loudly, he lets out a nervous chuckle. “Look! I’m doing it!”

“You are!” 

The way Dream’s face lights up reminds George of a kid in a candy store: viridian eyes are gleaming with happiness, teeth biting on the bottom of his lip as fingers twitch nervously. With dirty blonde locks that look almost golden underneath the bright lights, George almost sees a halo above Dream’s head, a fallen angel in front of him.

George wonders how he has gotten this lucky.

He can feel Dream’s grip on him loosening, confidence slowly building up as he slowly lets go of George. Dream’s arms are outstretched, attempting to find balance on the slippery surface. The concentrated look on Dream’s face and the way he’s biting on his lower lip nervously makes George want to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he lets his fingertips graze the other’s knuckles, lets warmth seep through his veins and course through his body and make him shudder. He lets himself savour the way Dream has his brows furrowed from concentration, his tongue poking out slightly at the corners, a little habit that the latter had picked up on from George. 

He lets himself fall, lets himself fall for the boy who doesn’t like hot chocolate and the boy with stars in his eyes. He lets himself fall for horrible singings in kitchens and deep chuckles in early mornings. He lets himself fall for tight arms wrapped around his torso and forehead kisses.

He lets himself fall for the boy with viridian eyes that shine brighter than the stars and freckles that dust his cheeks like constellations, and when he holds Dream in his arms, it’s as if the entire universe is in his hands.

“George? Why are you looking at me like that?”

It’s quiet, except for the steady and constant sound of blades against ice. Humming, George lets himself part from Dream.

“Wait-!”

And Dream lets the nerves wash over him as he comes crashing down onto the icy surface, tumbling slightly due to momentum. Groaning in pain, he watches as George looks on with a bemused smile before reaching his hand out for Dream to stand up.

Latching onto George’s hand tightly, Dream gives the former a smirk. Before George knows what’s happening, he’s stumbling to the ground with a yelp and falling on Dream.

“Dream!” George scolds, his arms outstretched so that he’s caging Dream in, hands on either side of the blonde’s head as his boyfriend wheezes. A blush creeps up and finds its place on his cheeks. “Why’d you do that!”

“Because-” Dream says through wheezy laughters, a hand on his stomach from how hard he’s laughing. “Because now I- oh my god- now I can say you fell for me!”

The shove Dream gets from George is enough indication that the latter has enough of his shit. “You’re such a fucking dumbass. You didn’t have to drag me down like this!”

“Aw, c’mon,” Dream teases, pulling George closer to him. It’s cold, and with his back against the ice he’s sure that his clothes are wet, but he deems it worth it as he watches George turn red again. “Just tell me you love me.”

“Fuck off.” The fond smile on George’s face tells Dream otherwise.

“You love me.”

“No I don’t.”

“Oh really?” Dream raises an eyebrow. “What if I kissed you? You’d like that, won’t you?”

George hides his face with his hands, clearly flustered. “Dream-”

“What if I held you and whispered sweet nothings everytime we cuddled? What if I told you I’d steal the moon and the stars and the sun for you? What if I told you that you look cute in my hoodies? What if I told you that I’d do anything just to spend more time with you? You’d like that, won’t you?”

There’s something that’s bubbling at the bottom of Dream’s stomach, something akin to a burning flame, an irresistible urge to shout at the top of his lungs. Dream realises that the feeling only appears whenever he’s around George, the feeling of fire and passion and everything that gives him unlimited energy. It’s something in George that makes him want to scream his name from the top of the highest mountains, that makes him want to fight the fiercest beasts.

It’s something in George that makes him feel so _alive_.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” George’s words come out slightly muffled, but Dream catches onto it and he holds onto it, holds onto George’s words like it’s gold and jewels and emeralds and he holds onto it so damn _tightly_ that he’s sure it’s going to make him bleed, but he holds onto them anyway. He holds onto George’s words and he doesn’t let go, and if the universe allowed him he’d rearrange the stars in the night skies just to spell out everything that George has said to him.

Especially when George says ‘I love you’.

“But I’m your idiot.”

George lets out something that’s close to a screech as he pushes Dream. “Shut- oh my god-”

Dream holds George close to him. “I love you.”

“We’re in an ice skating rink, Dream.”

“I love you.”

“Fuck off.”

Dream laughs, and kisses him.

George kisses back, and for a moment, the universe collides and creates something ethereal. 

* * *

**_8 March, 2017_ **

**_3:30pm_ **

_George: hey can you get something for me?_

_George: i want chocolates_

_Dream: no_

_George: why :(_

_Dream: theyre disgusting_

_George: wtf_

_George: i’m breaking up with you_

_Dream: aw_

_Dream: is little gogy wogy breaking up with dreamy bc he doesnt want to get chocolates?_

_George: stfu_

_George: you arent getting any kisses tonight_

_Dream: :(_

_George: okay but where are you right now?_

_George: im lonelyyyy_

_Dream: im coming home_

_Dream: dude i literally am five minutes away_

_George: but thats too far_

_Dream: so do you want your chocolate or not_

_George: how long will you take_

_Dream: knowing tesco, it’ll probably take me ten more minutes_

_George: then dont_

_George; i want you home_

_Dream: but youre my home_

**_3:41pm_ **

_George: shut teh fuck up oh my god_

_Dream: ily_

_George: ilyt you fucking idiot_

* * *

**_25 December, 2017_ **

**_Last Christmas_ **

**_Christmas Day_ **

They’re over at Dream’s family, George planning to fly out this time instead of Dream as the latter’s family greets him with the brightest smiles that can challenge the Florida sun and the warmest hugs that can rival global warming.

It’s almost a ten-hour flight, and the tight seats and pushy passengers did not help his annoyed state in any way whatsoever, but when Dream runs to him, eyes bright and arms wide open as he almost knocks George off his feet with a hug, the pain and suffering is almost worth it.

“George!” Dream yells, loud enough to gain attention from the other passengers as the aforementioned boy feels his air squeezed out of his lungs from how hard Dream is hugging him. Lifting him up, George suppresses a squeak as Dream twirls him around, laughter ringing in his ear as Dream’s breath tickles his neck.

When his feet finally meet the smooth marble floor of the airport again, George looks up at bright viridian eyes as he lets his fingers linger on sun-kissed skin for longer. “Hi.”

“Hello.”

And George lets out a laugh and falls, once again, into green hoodies and firm arms and _home_.

“God, you two are disgusting,” Drista mumbles, though there’s a small smile on her face as she walks past the couple, grabbing George’s suitcases. “C’mon. We should head back home.”

Dream’s mother bombards George with questions while Dream rushes to Drista and fights over George’s bags and bickers with his sister. It’s a little awkward, to say the least, although Dream’s mum is nothing but kind and warm towards him as she asks about his day and his flight. 

In Dream’s mother, he can almost see it: see the viridian eyes that seem to hold the answers to the universe, see the constellations of freckles that dot both their cheeks. However, Dream doesn’t have the privilege of getting his mother’s smooth, brown hair.

At a distance, he can hear Drista yelling shotgun, clambering quickly into the passenger’s seat as Dream rolls his eyes. Shrugging, Dream throws George’s bags into the trunk as he waves to them, a smile still stretched wide on his face.

And George doesn’t know when he has gotten this lucky.

“You love him a lot, don’t you?” Dream’s mother speaks, her tone softer, When he looks at her, his left hand scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, he can see the fondness in her eyes as she looks over at her son. 

“Yeah,” George admits, the confession floating quietly in the air as it disappears along with the wind. “Yeah, I love him.” 

Dream’s mother chuckles. “I can see it in your eyes. It’s so obvious.”

“It is?”

“It’s alright,” she says, grinning as they near the car, the engine starting as George sees Drista lean forward to snatch the aux cord from Dream’s hands, the other trying to grab it back. “I see it in his eyes too.”

Both of them know it’s not George they’re talking about.

George lets a carefree laugh slip past his lips, and although fatigue is clinging to him desperately, he wants to run and scream and shout into the void just how much he loves Dream, just how much he loves waking up to the scent of lavender shampoo and cotton hoodies, He wants to scream to everyone just how much he loves fingers running through his hair and light hums of a melody he’s unfamiliar with. He wants to scream to everyone just how much he loves back hugs and wheezy laughters from a certain person.

He wants to scream to everyone just how much he loves Dream. 

“See,” Dream’s mother chuckles, the same breathy chuckle that Dream has. “You're doing it again.”

George blushes, a hand reaching out to touch his cheek subconsciously. “Doing what?”

They reach the car, George opening the door to let Dream’s mother in, though she leans into George, and with a mischievous grin (that he always sees on Dream), whispers, “Falling for him.”

George is a stuttering mess when he enters the car, Dream raising an eyebrow and looking back at his mother. “Mum? What did you do to him?”

“Oh, nothing, honey.” Dream’s mother waves dismissively as her son puts the car into reverse. “Just had a chat with your boyfriend. Now, eyes on the road. We don’t wanna crash, do we?”

“Mum!” Dream whines, and George has to suppress a laugh while Drista smacks the back of her brother’s head. “Hey! Bit-”

“Dream.”

Oops. It’s probably George’s fault that Dream’s so foul-mouthed right now. George can see Dream’s tongue poking out a little as he shares a glance with George, the light in his eyes dancing with something playful, the light dimple on his left cheek appearing slightly. 

“Sorry.” Shooting a glare to his sister, Dream concentrates on the road instead. 

Dream’s mother, determined to not let the car fall into silence, turns to George once again. “So, how do you find Florida.”

Well, first of all: it’s hot. Boiling, almost. There’s already a thin layer of sweat on his forehead as soon as he stepped down from the plane, barely ten minutes under the sun as he shuffled towards the airport, and he swears the sole of his shoes are melting. George wonders how they can live in this oven-like place. 

To be fair, Dream did warn him about the weather here, but he supposed that he can complain just _slightly_ about how ungodly this place is. 

Though, in front of Dream’s family (Dream’s mother in particular; Drista didn’t seem to pay much attention to their conversation as she props her legs up on the dashboard), he suppresses the complaint that’s threatening to erupt. “It’s nice. I like the weather.”

The wheezy laughters from Dream expose him, the car swerving a little until Drista yells at Dream to _shut the fuck up and drive!_

“What are you laughing at?” George mumbles, fumbling with his fingers slightly as he shoots daggers at Dream. The latter merely gives him a wink in return. 

“Oh. Nothing.”

Fucking bastard. 

“Ignore him,” Drista pipes up, her attention returning to the phone in her hand. “He’s an idiot sometimes. I don’t even know why you like him.”

_Me neither_ , George wants to say. He wants to know why it’s Dream that he fell for, what in Dream he sees that causes the other to stand out among the crowd, to cause the both of them to gravitate and orbit around each other. He wants to know why it’s Dream, why it’s pretty viridian eyes and wheezy laughters that cause his heart to claw out of his throat, why it’s sun-kissed skin and lazy fingers tracing his jaw that causes butterflies to burst in his stomach. He wants to know why it’s Dream that has George around his little finger.

Either way, when George looks up into the rear view mirror and meets Dream’s eyes, he doesn’t complain.

So what? What if it’s Dream? He’d let the other man break his heart, let him shatter it into a billion pieces and walk away if he wanted to. George would let his soul be crushed and his breath to be taken away if that meant that Dream would be happy, because he’s a stupid, lovesick _fool_ that will fall and fall and _fall_ until he reaches rock bottom, and even till then he’d still find ways to scrape the floor of it just to see how far he can go.

He’s utterly fucked around Dream to say the least.

“Hey!” Dream protests, eyes still on the road. 

“What! I’m right!”

Childishly, Dream sticks his tongue out. Drista just puts up the middle finger. 

“Mum!” Dream yells, voice cracking a little. “She pointed the middle finger at me!”

Dream’s mother only rolls her eyes, apologises to George about their behaviour, and smiles. 

George gives her a half-hearted chuckle, turning to the windows and watching trees zip by them and similar houses fly by. Leaning his head on the car door, he hums softly, the rumbling of the air-conditioner filling in the silence.

“George?” Dream whispers, and from where George is sitting he can see the corner of Dream’s lips curled up into a slight smile. “Hey, you good?”

“Yeah,” George yawns, shifting so that he can see the other better. “I’m just kinda tired. Flights and whatnot.”

“You can take a nap first, if you want.” The car turns, leading them down another path that shows rows upon rows of houses. “But I think we’re kinda close already.”

George hums, though he reaches out and places his hand on Dream’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I’ll just stay up a lil more.”

His heart stutters when Dream smiles.

They fall into a more comfortable silence, George occasionally listening to Dream’s low mutter as a song he recognises comes on the radio.

“This is the song you like, right?” Dream looks at him with the corner of his eye. “ _Last Christmas_?”

George is surprised that Dream even remembers it, because it’s such a mundane fact that he’s sure it’ll slip from the other’s mind. “Yeah. Yeah it is.”

(He doesn’t show how happy it makes him feel, bottles it up as per usual.)

“Do you still believe in the same thing?”

“Hm?”

Dream runs a hand through his hair, and in the sunlight George sees the glint of the promise ring that George has given him on their anniversary. The memory makes his heart flutter a little.

“Like, the ‘falling for people over and over again’ thing,” Dream takes another turn, this time to the right. George can make out the shadow of a pigeon on the street. “Do you still believe that… those who do that are dumb?”

And it’d be ironic if George nodded yes, if George said that he still believes that. It’d be ironic and hilarious because there’s never a day when he never falls for Dream over and over again, there’s never a day where he discovers something about Dream that he holds close to his heart, that he puts into a small locket and cradles it softly. There's never a day when his skin doesn’t linger under Dream’s touch, when the hairs on the back of his neck doesn’t stand as Dream’s breath brushes over the bottom of his ear, when his bottom lip isn’t chewed on as Dream’s fingertips trace his body.

It’d be ironic, and it’d be hilarious, because he has changed so much in the span of a few years, all because of a single person.

Dream.

So he says no. 

“Oh?” And there’s the eyebrow raise that George adores, one that shows off just how perfect Dream is. “What made you change your mind?”

George’s face is burning when he mumbles out a singular “You.”

“Oh.” Dream is smiling, his teeth showing and George can see his canines poking out. “Oh, I… that’s- wow.”

It’s just how George says ‘I love you’.

“We’re here, by the way,” Dream says, this time more softly and more fond, eyes twinkling like stars in the night sky as he kills the engine. Drista and Dream’s mother are already out of the door, leaving the two of them behind. Sighing contentedly, George follows Dream back to the trunk of the car, thanking him as he lunges his suitcase up to the pavement.

It’s pretty simple, to say the least. White picket fences surround the front garden, various pots of flowers lining up along the gravel road. A mailbox sits at the side of the gate. Fairy lights are strewn across the fences, and a makeshift snowman stands beside the front door, a lopsided smile plastered on his face.

It feels like… home, in a way.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Dream chuckles, leaning down to try and grab the handle of George’s suitcase from him, though the latter holds onto it with a firm grip. Stealing a kiss from George, Dream smugly walks up the steps, hand reaching out to turn the doorknob. “Well, not that you haven’t been here before, but-”

The doorknob doesn’t budge. 

“What the fu-” 

To their left, Drista pops her head out of the window, a proud grin on her face. “HAH! I gotcha!”

“Drista-”

“Yeah! Suck it, green boy! Get locked out of there!”

“I have my-” Dream’s eyes widen as he pats his back pocket. Dangling Dream’s house keys in front of him, Drista blows raspberries at him as she retreats before Dream can get her. “You fucking-”

“Have fun!” She laughs, slamming the window shut. 

George merely watches with an amused smile, turning to Dream. “So. Outsmarted by your own little sister. How do you feel about that?”

Dream scoffs. “Thanks. Feels like shit.”

A knock on the window catches both their attention. Dream rolls his eyes and flips Drista the middle finger, but the other merely points to something above them, and when George looks up, he can feel his cheeks burn as Drista’s laughter is muffled through the walls.

It’s a mistletoe.

“Fucking bitch-” Dream is stuttering too, eyes wide and flustered as he fumbles with the bottom fo his T-shirt. “I’m so sorry-”

Lips are on his before he can even complete the sentence. Dream’s eyes widen, obviously caught off-guard as George pushes against him before breaking apart. There’s a small, shy smile on his face. 

“So-”

Dream pulls him back into the kiss.

And god, George is falling once again. 

* * *

**_22 January, 2018_ **

**_3:48pm_ **

_George: can you get some milk from the store_

_George: i think we’re running out of it_

_Dream: aw :[ why can’t you drink coffee_

_George: i hate coffee!_

_George: the taste is so fucking bitter i can’t stand it_

_George: also aren’t you driving right now?_

_Dream: wekk, yeah, but i’m at the traffic light_

_Dream: it’s red, so_

_Dream: what milk do you want_

_George: the same oen_

_George: don’t text and drive! >:( _

_Dream: okay mum_

_Dream: i’ll be back in a few_

_Dream: i love you <3 _

_George: <3 _

**_4:00pm_ **

_George: dream?_

_George: where are you?_

_George: did you get lost in the store lmfao_

**_4:02pm_ **

_George: dream this isn;t funny._

_George: i knwo you like to ignore me as a joke but_

_George: im actually worried_

_George: please call back_

**_4:05pm_ **

_George: dream_

_George: dream im getting so fucking mad_

_George: pick up my fucking calls_

**_5:00pm_ **

George’s phone rings. It’s Dream.

“Where the fuck were you!” George yells, worry and frustration bubbling at the bottom of his stomach. “Why the fuck were you not picking up my calls!”

“Hello?” The voice that comes through the phone isn’t Dream’s. “Is this… uh, is this George?”

“Yes?” There’s dread pooling at the bottom of his stomach as he listens to a stranger’s voice. “Who are you? Why do you have Dream’s phone?”

“You’re on his emergency call list, so I had to call you first. He’s in the hospital.”

George’s blood runs cold. “He’s _what_?”

“The Royal London Hospital. You should come here as fast as possible. He’s… it’s not looking good.”

George is already at the door, clumsily trying to wear his sneakers and _why the fuck are they so hard to put on now all of a sudden?_ “Where the fuck is he?”

“He’s in the ER now.”

“Who are you?”

There’s silence, and George thinks that the other has already hung up, but the ruffling of papers from the other side says otherwise. “I’m Wilbur.”

* * *

**_25 December, 2018_ **

**_First Christmas_ **

**_Christmas Day_ **

When George places the last plate of roasted beef on the table, everything is perfect.

The table is set up lovely, with candles lit up at the center of a mahogany table, flames flickering weakly. Ornaments are scattered across the dining hall, extended into the living room as a Christmas tree stands tall and proud, fairy lights strewn across haphazardly in a way that it almost looks artistic. From where he is, George can hear the fireplace crackle.

It almost feels like home. A small smile rests on George’s features, forehead slightly glimmering with sweat from how much food he has prepared. His heart swells with pride as his nose catches a whiff of the fruity scent of the apple pie. Placing the oven mittens aside, he lets himself rest and admire the apartment. 

He looks outside and sees snow. He smiles.

Dream would love this.

It’s almost home, and the progress of setting up everything is almost complete. There’s still a small decoration that George has yet to put up, something that Dream had gotten him the third time they had spent Christmas together. His eyes fleet over to the piece of decoration: a small locket. 

When he picks it up, it’s cold. Running his thumb over it’s smooth, golden surface, he admires how it glimmers under the bright light and watches his reflection before flipping the cover open. Inside sits a photo, the both of them under colourful and bright lights as they share a kiss underneath the night sky, a shy smile on Dream’s lips and a blush on both of their faces.

George lets his finger glide over the smooth surface of glass, lets his mind wander a little too far as he caresses Dream’s face and hair, and he can almost feel the ghost of Dream’s lips against his, the pressure there as calloused hands hold him firmly. Dirty blonde locks that’s spun with the hands of God himself tangled in between his fingers as George tugs on them, pulling Dream closer and pressing against him harder as ever.

The fire cackles. He snaps out of his daze. 

Dream’s warmth is replaced by the cold winter.

George shuffles out of his seat, eyes jumping from one foodstuff to the other, from creamy mashed potatoes to warm pumpkin soup, and he frets over the placements for a little while. When everything looks _just_ right, George looks around.

It’s almost home, but there’s still something, _someone_ , still missing. 

George’s hand reaches to his back pocket and pulls out his phone. Wiping his sweat away, he calls a number that’s all too familiar, a number that has secured a place at the top of his ‘recent contacts’.

Without a thought, he calls Dream.

The phone is pressed against his ear, a ringtone that he has memorised due to the frequency of his calls playing in his ear. He waits, waits as the melody hums, waits as his heart longs for his partner to pick up, waits as his leg bounces anxiously. 

He waits for Dream to come home, waits for the familiar jingle of keys as the latter opens the door, a tired yet warm smile on his face as George runs up to greet him. Waits for a small kiss to be pressed against his cheek, the smell of air-conditioner and _home_ to be wrapped around him. 

The crackle that rings through his ear breaks his illusion. 

Of course Dream isn’t going to come home. He never is going to, because how can a dead person come back home?

“ _Hi_ .” George hears Dream shuffle as his voice dips to a quiet whisper, a little scratchier and deeper, as if he has just woken up. “ _It’s Dream. Sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. I’m either busy or accidentally broke something_.” 

George chuckles, ignoring the way his heartstrings tug at Dream’s voice, reminding him of honey running down his throat and autumn leaves that are crunchy. He ignores how his chest tightens at the words muttered out, how his guts are tying knots and how there’s a pressure in his chest that he desperately needs to release. He ignores how his hands shake, and how his vision blurs with tears.

He ignores it and continues to listen to the voicemail.

“ _If you’re Sapnap, please don’t break shit. I’ll be there soon._ ”

George can barely see the wall in front of him, can barely make out the bright red ‘Merry Christmas!’ against the green wreath. 

“ _If you’re Karl, please stop Sapnap from doing anything stupid._ ”

George can feel his lungs collapse, feel the wind get knocked out as he curls up on himself, sobs wrecking his body.

“ _If you’re Drista, tell mum that I’ll call her soon and that I love her._ ”

There’s more shuffling, something that reminds George that Dream is still here, still there on the phone even though it’s prerecorded. 

“ _And mum, if you’re here because you don’t trust Drista, hello. I’m here, and I promise I’ll call._ ”

George is holding onto the phone tightly, gasping desperately for air through heaves and heartache and he can almost feel Dream’s fingertips brushing against his cheeks, wiping his tears away delicately and in the way that it’s _Dream_ that it’s almost impossible for anyone else to replicate.

_“If this is Bad, just apologise to Skeppy. He can never be able to stay mad at you. Just give him some time_.”

George focuses on how Dream’s voice always dips at the end of his sentence, the way it spreads warmth through his chest and clenches his heart like vines, and he’s sure he’s never going to be able to let go of Dream, let go of pretty viridian eyes and breathy wheezes and it _hurts so fucking badly._

_“If this is George_ ,” It’s the way George can hear a smile in his words, hear the fondness that’s seeping through his words and he swears he can see Dream blush, pink spreading across freckled cheeks as he continues with a softer tone.

“ _Hi. I love you. I’ll be home soon._ ”

It ends with a small chuckle, one that George holds close to his heart, one that keeps replaying in his head over and over again at nights when he can’t sleep and at days when he can’t get out of bed. It’s a small chuckle, but it’s something that George adores so fucking _much_ that if he could, he’d store it in a glass jar filled with the brightest stars and the prettiest smiles and he’d hold it so, so close to his heart, so that no one is able to snatch away what’s left of Dream.

And even though the voicemail has ended, even though all that’s left in George’s ear is the sound of silence and his sobs, Dream’s last chuckle still echoes in his head, a broken record player rewinding the same melody over and over again. The fireplace crackles, reminding George of its presence, but he ignores it as he holds the phone close to his chest as he buries his head in his knees.

“Dream-”

And he bawls, feeling so, _so_ cold even though the heater is on and he’s wearing a red hoodie. His head is spinning, limbs heavy as he gasps, lungs begging for more air as he chokes. Coughing, he tries to take deep breaths to calm himself down.

George wishes Dream is holding him, wishes to feel strong arms wrap around his torso, grounding him to reality as sweet nothings are whispered into his ear. He wishes for a pair of hands to run through his hair, fingers tangling in brown hair as Dream massages his head to soothe him. He wishes, _oh so desperately_ , for Dream to be here with him.

All he gets is a gentle caress from the breeze and a sympathetic glance from the fireplace.

He doesn’t know how long he has cried, how long he has replayed the voicemail over and over again, listening to words that drip with honey and crunchy autumn leaves and he cries and cries until he’s out of tears and breath. He cries until all that’s left is dry heavings and pants and he’s so, so tired.

George’s soul is heavy, yet his heart is empty. 

Dream’s name repeats in his head, a mantra that he desperately wishes to get rid of, because no matter how much it’s repeated and how much it’s spoken, Dream is never going to come back, never going to rise from the grave. He is never going to experience the familiar jingle of keys, never going to experience running up to Dream to greet him. He’s never going to experience Dream’s kiss and Dream’s touch and Dream’s smile and everything that’s just _Dream_.

George is never going to experience home again.

He looks up, eyes readjusting to his surroundings that’s way too happy and cheerful for his situation, and catches the tiny glint of the locket that’s sitting on the table. Forcing himself to stand up, he moves to the ornament, fingers clumsily grabbing at air before they secure the locket.

He doesn’t flip open the cover, doesn’t look at the way Dream smiles at himself like he’s the entire universe and the stars all combined into one, doesn’t look at the way they look so fucking _happy_ that his situation is almost pathetic, in a sense. He doesn’t look at the picture, for fear that he might fall deeper for Dream again, fall deeper for green eyes and silky, blonde locks.

Instead, he puts it back to the box that’s labelled ‘Ornaments’ in Dream’s wonky handwriting.

He calls Dream once again, though his mind blanks at his voicemail, heart numb from the pain. When he reaches the end, he lets out a shaky breath, and forces out a smile.

“Hey, Dream. When are you coming home? Dinner’s ready.”

George hangs up. With a small, sad grin, he drops his phone onto the table and blows out the candles. He leaves the feast alone. 

When he retreats back to their shared room, a gust of wind embraces him. Through the small hums of the breeze and the slight whistles, he can almost hear Dream’s breathy laugh as a small whisper tickles his neck.

  
“ _Merry Christmas, George. I love you._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> scream at me on my twitter @ISLE0FDREAM


End file.
